


To Dance Is to Be Free

by Nenya_KJ



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Dancing, Bellydancing, Drinking, Drugging, Forced, Gore, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multiple Authors, Original work - Freeform, Originally a roleplay, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poisoning, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Redemption, Rescue, Revenge, Sexual Assault, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Treachery, Viking lifestyle, Vikings, Violence, Witchcraft, belly dancer, forced to dance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenya_KJ/pseuds/Nenya_KJ
Summary: Back in the ancient time of the Vikings, Mysterio is a young witch doctor taken from his home and forced to dance for a group of cruel southern vikings. Slade is the of a northern group, determined to keep the peace throughout the isles. The two of them are thrown together and Slade has vowed the slavery and cruelty of the southern clans stops now.((This fic is very dark, it contains mentions of rape and sexual assault, slavery, violence, murder, all the fillings from the lives of Vikings. Please proceed with caution andHEED THE TAGS!!Thank you!!))





	1. Slade's Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we meet the first main character Slade, penned by myself <3

Slade huffed a sigh as he moved about in his saddle seeking a more comfortable position, the massive black Friesian stallion beneath him whickering quietly in protest. This was folly.

For centuries, the Vikings of the northern shores met together in celebration of the bonding of their villages, to salute their new brotherhood of warriors; the contract the ancient ones had drawn up to bring the people together. It had brought about peace throughout the region and their people flourished under the new law. The villages grew full with children, happy and healthy and out of danger. Crops and cattle multiplied; surely the gods looked down in favor upon them, Even the witch doctors grew bored, without ailments or curses to cure.

Slade was happy for his people. Being a Child of Odin’s blood and a leader of the largest of the Northern territories, the Norseman had watched life blossom out of the ashes of the old ways, for he was a child when the ancients decided peace was far more profitable than war for the clans.

However, he knew, deep within his being, the people were growing restless. Stories had risen out of the South, stories shared over hanks of charred meat and smokey fires, that the leaders of the Southern territories had taken to capturing the people from across the sea. The strange and exotic, beautiful people who stayed hidden away from the violent life of his people.

Slavery was outlawed, it was an unspoken rule. “No man has the right to own another.”

Yet Slade knew the chiefs of the South. They were cruel men, without morals. Masters of hedonism, known to indulge in many unspeakable things.

A few years back, Erik Jorrvaskr, chief of the largest village, Slade’s equal in authority and riches, introduced a group of dancers to the celebration’s nighttime entertainment. Proud and vicious, the bloodthirsty brute swore to Odin himself that the dancers were free folk, free to come and go as they please.

But Slade _knew_ … Wrists and ankles rubbed raw, sallow and thin. The dancers, mostly women, were beyond terrified. Avoiding eye contact and permanently silent...

They were not free. They were _slaves_.

And in order to keep the peace, Slade needed to keep quiet. Turn a blind eye.

This. These celebrations. They were _folly_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mysterio is penned by my very talented bestie, found [here](https://your-dark-magic-man-mysterio.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> Slade is penned by myself, found [here](https://heedthemountain.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as well <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	2. Mysterio's Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Heed the tag warnings, please_
> 
>  
> 
> Here we meet the second main character, the young man Mysterio, penned by my writing soulmate Cyan

“You’d better be good tonight.”  
  
The deep husky voice directed to him was dripping with lust;  commanding, with a lurking hint of threat, however the red haired young man was not paying attention. Kneeled as he was, almost as if he was praying, his mind was elsewhere, to another time and place entirely; shiny green eyes not focusing on the huge viking in front of him, but staring at the void, sweet melancholy dripping from them like honey or poison as he was trying to dissociate from the painful reality he was mercilessly being thrown in.

_At this hour he would have finished studying spells and have gone to pick medicinal herbs at the forest…Perhaps he would have gone hunting too… His mother would kiss his forehead reminding him to put the anatomy and alchemy books back to their shelves and to wear a thick pelt lest he caught a cold, because it was usually chilly after the sun had set. His father would look at him with pride lighting his stare as they discussed which people needed their assistance in both maladies of the body and soul, the yule festivities, the sacrifices to the gods and what the spirits whispered during their meditation. Then he would saddle the horse and ride to the town, to the house of old Maximillian whose condition required daily visits as he was preparing himself for his passing to the other side and his family was preparing with him. He was there when…_  
  
“Are you listening to me, you son of a whore?” the other man yelled.  
  
_The sky was burning up. Ash and blood were blurring his vision, their tangy taste pervading his sensations, overpowering any other stimulus except the yells and cries of his people who were being slaughtered by the invading savages and the laughter of the victors- so outworldly that was more akin to wolves howling than a sound produced by human throats. The house he was in was aflame, but he was frozen in shock, not even trying to run away. Shoved in a corner, he trembled observing the body of old Maximillian cut to pieces by the brutes, his screams to “let go” and “he is a dying man for gods’ sake” still echoing through his ears. The voices of the spirits for once were completely silent. “Have the gods deserted me?” he wondered. “Am I losing my mind?” Alas… no… He was not losing his mind, for this…this was the easy part. The real horror was about to begin…_  
  
“ _Slave_!” The yell and the sudden tightening of the noose around his neck caused the young man to violently come back to reality as he choked, coughed and struggled to catch his breath. _He did not slap me_ , he mentally noted. _He wouldn’t want to bruise my face for tonight…_  
  
“You’d better be good, or else…”   
  
The bile of all the things he wanted to say and do filled his mouth. For a brief moment, his vision turned to red, vivid fantasies of the viking’s guts spilled onto the floor and the walls of the room he was in filling his mind. Him biting and ripping the carcass apart with his bare hands; the accursed blood in his mouth… oh gods would there be any better taste?   
  
He swallowed the bile back. He knew that if he did not do what he was told, if he brought any resistance or tried to escape like he had done countless times before he would just make things worse for himself. What he feared most could not be avoided anyway… but being beaten up to the point of blacking out afterwards _could_.   
  
“Yes, master.” The boy’s voice was flat and emotionless, like the strings of an out of tune instrument.  
  
“Good.” Apparently satisfied with the reply, his master -whose name was Erik Jorrvaskr if he correctly recalled- pulled him towards him and bit ferociously the base of his neck, asserting his dominance over him and leaving his mark for everyone to see to whom he belonged. The young man gritted his teeth and gulped, trying not to let the tears flow. It would be of no use. He just closed his eyes and prayed that it would end soon… and it did. When he opened them again, he could only catch a glimpse of the savage exiting.   
  
His gaze now fell at the clothes that were laid out for him to wear for tonight’s celebration… or the almost lack thereof. The fact that they let him keep his pendants with the inscribed charms ironically was not helping him now, making this whole ordeal even more humiliating than it already was.He used to do that back then… it was part of rituals, same as sacrifices, meditation, summoning and chanting. A way of expressing the will of the spirits.   
  
Not like _this_. This is _wrong_. ‘Tis… ‘tis sacrilege.   
  
_Unlike all the other men who were captured alongside him, he was not sent to work the fields, no matter how he begged. They would not send him, for they thought his thin, feminine body would not last more than a week. Perhaps they were right. Even now that he had been sorted with the women slaves he was feeling cold all the time. Perhaps it was his soul that was shivering like that… “He is too weak for that” he remembered them saying. He is too delicate. Too beautiful.”_ _  
__  
__“Too beautiful”… His beauty was his curse, for these warriors had needs of men and souls as black as hell… Time and time again they claimed him, tainting and spoiling his flesh with their desires, forcefully taking their pleasure in his body. Time and time again the night echoed with his cries. Time and time again he scrubbed the shame off his skin furiously, to the point of drawing blood to rid himself from their smell, a smell so hard to come off like the memories which were tattooed into his mind._ _  
_  
And now, here he was, all dressed up for his captors once again by putting his body on display for their hungry eyes and dancing for their entertainment.  
  
With a sigh he looked idly at the elegant piece of fabric that he was holding before he wore it to cover the upper half of his face. _This is the only thing protecting my_ _dignity now, or whatever of it is left._ Soundlessly, the red haired young man exited the room.  
  
None of the gathered people noticed the frail figure passing through, as their eyes were turned towards the female slaves -his fellow captives- who had just finished their own dance and were now walking out of the small circle, giving their place to him. At least they have the right to the safety of the crowd he could not help but think.  
  
Shutting his eyes closed, not bearing the nauseating feeling of shame that would overcome him were he to see all those pairs of eyes directed towards him, the young man started dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mysterio is penned by my very talented bestie, found [here](https://your-dark-magic-man-mysterio.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> Slade is penned by myself, found [here](https://heedthemountain.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as well <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	3. At First Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade arrives at the celebration

Slade’s large group of Northern warriors were the last to arrive at the meeting point of the Viking celebrations. Waving his chiefs ahead, himself not quite eager to arrive, he allowed his horse Frey to take his time, picking about at the most sumptuous morsels of grass while Slade sat in quiet contemplation. One hand twisted loosely in the reins, the other rested atop the massive handle of his two handed broadsword.

With the sun setting at his back, the Viking Commander could take in the entire encampment from his vantage point. Curling in the wind, he watched as his banners slowly rose, a golden cross of the Celts amid a maroon field, his captains and their workers setting about putting up the multitude of tents and digging the many fire pits. His gaze followed the stretch of canvases, recognizing the different colors of the East and West, his head nodding in salute when the Commander of the East shouted a greeting to him.

Sharp blue eyes finally fell upon the green banner of the Southern territories. _It seems as if Erik was first to arrive,_ he thought to himself. _No doubt he has brought us his charming entertainment…_

Grim faced and jaw clenching, the Commander nudged his stallion forward, accepting his fate. Fourteen days of suffering the prideful drunken guffaws of Erik Jorrvaskr, the fool basking in the praise and glory drawn from his dancers. Odin’s beard, the man had been most insufferable last year, the gods only knew what deplorable deeds the idiot will be capable of this time.

One of the stable boys ran eagerly out to meet Slade, all smiles as the lad slipped a sugar cube into Frey’s mouth and kissed the silky black nose. Dismounting with a hearty laugh, Slade gave the war horse a firm pat on his flank.

“Hagen, you will have my horse fat and spoiled come time to return home!” he exclaimed, grinning and ruffling the boy’s blonde locks as they walked to the area set apart for their clans.

“Never, Commander! I promise to take him for a walk every morning and night!” the boy squeaked, his voice giving evidence to the early onset of manhood. Hagen beamed up at Slade, the latter winking before heading off to find his tent.

Eyes ever watchful, the Commander walked among his people, lending hand when needed, exchanging jibes and laughter with his captains, teaching the younger workers how to tie the best knots for the tents and the best ways to lay logs for a fire. Ever the patient teacher. In truth, he was not needed as they prepared the camp, for his people were hardworking and trustworthy. Yet, they welcomed him, they loved their Commander. He was just and fair. Cruelty was not in his nature, unlike the chiefs of the South. Slade could feel the tension in the air, see the side glances in the direction of the Southerners.

Sighing, Slade ducked into his now erected tent, eager to wash away the dust of the long journey. He prayed no confrontation would occur this year, the peace of their world depended on it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Freshly scrubbed, honey brown hair twisted back in a long warrior’s plait, Slade exited through the large flap of decorated canvas, red and gold braided together in a wide decoration along the hem.

Catching the eye of his second in command, Kaarle, a tall blonde man, not nearly as tall as Slade, with a deep scar running down his left cheek, the two of them braced their shoulders and headed for the communal arena set in the very midst of the sea of tents and pavilions.

Dressed in a soft blue tunic and wide brown leather belt, matching leather pants and dragon-scaled boots, Slade trudged through the empty tents, Kaarle close to his right and just behind, the position of the second in command. They both were tense and silent. The first night was always a toss up. Things could easily end well… or things could _very_ easily end in broken bones and spilled mead. Which…. obviously, would lead to a miserable two weeks.

Music drifted to their ears as they approached the massive big top. All four banners of the territories waved at them from atop, symbolizing unity and peace.

Kaarle huffed and grumbled, “As usual, late to the party.” The close cropped golden hair atop his head shimmered in the flickering of firelight showing through the cracks of canvas. Through it, Slade could barely make out silhouettes of dancing bodies and flowing silk.

Sighing, ignoring the tight knot of his stomach, he replied, “My friend, it is only just beginning.”

Many shouts and calls of greeting met the two men as they entered, mugs of wine shoved into their hands as they make their way to the middle of the many tables laid about. Hundreds of men sat among flickering torches and flagons of drink and hanks of cooked meat and fresh apples, the tables circling  the large stage in the center.

Slade’s jaw clenched and he avoided watching the nearly bare women move and dance about, focusing on finding the table of his closest men, and settled down on a bench, Kaarle plopping down beside him.

Whistles and howls filled the air as Slade ate quietly, his men just as respectfully silent. They knew what Slade suspected… and they agreed, having witnesses the oddity of the dancers themselves. And _none_ of them approved.

The crowd applauded as the women exited the stage, whistling and cackling and shouting obscenities, _mostly from the Southern clans_ , Slade noted out of the corner of his eye.

Kaarle nudged his Commander side with an urgent elbow, Erik Jorrvaskr’s voice booming throughout the gigantic tent as he took the stage. The large bone snapping in his grip, Slade sat up tall and forced a passive expression on his face, successfully hiding his disgust. Turning on the bench, the large Viking settled back against the table, lifting his gaze to the dark haired man above them.

“Greetings, my brothers!!” Erik shouted, lifting a flagon of ale in salute to the crowd, who shouted a loud greeting in return. “Tonight, I have brought an exotic treat to feast your eyes upon,” the man sneered, a wicked grin splitting his face. The neatly trimmed goatee, albeit an odd choice for a Viking, was peppered with grey, his long black hair twisted simply in a knot at the back of his neck. Clothed in a black leather vest, a silver belt wrapped around his thick waist, green cloth pants and leather boots, Erik strode across the stage, enthusiastic and secretive at the same time. His clan’s tattoos slithered down bare muscled arms as he lifted them, pointing to where the women had exited the stage at the back of the tent.

“I have for your entertainment-” Kaarle scoffed -”a fiery jewel from across the sea,” Erik almost purred, stepping back to allow a single figure to step up onto the stage.

A deep hush fell over the crowd as the musicians struck up the drums and exotic tune. And Slade’s heart stopped.

Fiery tresses spilled over slender shoulders, large green eyes hidden behind a delicate black lace mask lifted to the heavens, as if in solemn prayer, and pale curvy hips began to move, arms lifting gracefully.

“ _That… is a man_ ,” one of the captains whispered to Slade and the men at their table, leaning over to speak in confidence.

Kaarle glanced back at him, then over to Slade, before returning his sharp gaze to watch the young man swirl and dip.

Slade…. was speechless. Never before in all his long years had he laid eyes on a creature so fair. One so beautiful. High cheekbones led to full soft lips, the sharp jawline softened by a dusting of red. Strands of golden chains and runes draped over a slender bare chest and shoulders, gold bands adorned biceps and wrists. Near transparent silk, the lightest of green, swooped below wide hips to gather at the groin just below the navel, a faint trail of red leading down into the gathered folds. Multiple strands of golden beads clacked together, hanging in a delicate design along the belt, swaying with each erotic jerk and twist and thrust. Feet bare and clean, legs long and hairless, _(most likely shaven)_ carried the beautiful dancer about as if were dancing amidst the clouds.

Many sharp inhalations of shock could be heard throughout the gathering as the young man turns, beautiful red curls halting just above the curved waist. Slade’s eyes widened slightly… The young man was completely exposed from behind, only the golden beads crisscrossed across the pale buttocks.

Kaarle glanced sideways again at his Commander, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments.

This… was an outrage. This… was sacrilege. This…..

Was not to be had.

Slade clenched his fists against his thighs. Not only did the brute keep slaves… Erik was now forcing men into positions held only by women.

_Odin Allfather… what must I do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mysterio is penned by my very talented bestie, found [here](https://your-dark-magic-man-mysterio.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> Slade is penned by myself, found [here](https://heedthemountain.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as well <3


	4. Mysterio's Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets dark, _**please read the tags!!**_

The crowd’s cheers were howls; deafening and sharp, and stabbing through the youth’s heart like daggers.

_No, not daggers. I would rather have a dagger through my heart rather than this…_

Throughout the dance he could feel them looking at him hungrily; feasting their eyes upon the spectacle of his almost naked body, licking their lips like predators, whispering profanities to one another about what they would like to do to him if they got the chance to lay their greedy hands upon him. How they would rip the scarce fabric apart, pin him down and make him scream. Some were already enacting the scene in their minds, fingers moving towards their groin; their pants suddenly feeling tighter. Mysterio did not need to use his ability of hearing thoughts to know that.

And it was sickening him.

He peeked a glance at the audience. Just as he expected, the usual suspects were all there; more beasts than humans, having their eyes fixed upon the sway of his hips. Perhaps Erik -oh but of course, he was there too, the idea was his, after all- would let them take turns on him that night if they asked nicely enough. Perhaps he would be there too, mocking them that they “were being too soft and sentimental” and reminding them that “the slave should learn his place”. Probably the sick bastard would hold him down himself, squeezing the breath out of his throat to muffle his cries.

_Why don’t they let me perish already?_

The rest of those viewers were probably no different to the ones he could recognize; wearing the colors of the southerners and wolf whistling and yelling insults.

Except…

As his head hung low, he could barely discern through the waves of red hair cascading down and covering his face some strangers at the opposite side of the small circle looking at him with wide eyes, but their gaze hid no hints of lust.

Instead… they looked _shocked_. _One_ in particular.

Mysterio never remembered having seen that one around, because if he had, even once, he would definitely remember him. Ironic how this people’s lore said that humans were created from giants -at least that was what he heard from discussions amongst the female slaves- because this one definitely had giant blood running through his veins. His whole presence was impressive; imposing and regal, but somehow still providing traces of softness. Waves of molten gold cascaded down to his broad chest and shoulders; vivid but gentle eyes glimmering of childish curiosity, blue as the sky. These eyes were now fixed at him oozing with surprise and his teeth were gritted in silent protest. The few men seated next to him had the same disapproving expression painted on their faces. Mysterio couldn’t help but find himself wondering how come these ones were so different than everyone else.

Nevertheless, the change was, to say the least, _refreshing_.

The red haired dancer did not manage to wrap his thoughts around the mystery that man posed any further, though, for suddenly a strong hand took a firm grip upon his upper arm and another one upon the roots of his hair, violently dragging him away. Mysterio only let out a muffled whimper of pain as Erik carelessly removed him from the stage towards an unknown location, walking fast with wide strides, the youth struggling to keep up. _He is taking me to his tent… gods help me_ he thought in panic observing the bulge in the viking’s pants. However, the tent which they entered after ten minutes was not the one he had learned to dread. Instead of the red and green colors, it bared burgundy and gold, being located at the far end of the temporary settlement. The interior was austere, yet hinting that the inhabitant was high in the hierarchy; the scarce details on the bedding and the few objects adorning the place were carved into the wood with great care and were inlaid with silver, bearing the solitary symbol of the Celtic cross.

Before Mysterio had time to wonder why Erik had led him there, he was hurled onto the bed and pinned under the larger man, his hands held above his head in a vice-like grip. He raised his gaze to meet the other’s eyes; his full of fear. Erik grinned widely, basking in the terror he was causing the beautiful, weaker man underneath him. _Ah, just as it should be._ His slave, fully subdued to him, surrendering to his every will and order. _His own_.  He eyed the angry bite mark from earlier and his grin grew even more dark and sinister. Burying his face into the crook of his neck he stayed there for a few moments, deeply inhaling the youth’s sweet scent of lavender and cedarwood, and then bit down on the same spot again, with bruising force, tainting the pale supple flesh even more. Mysterio let out a choked moan of pain and Erik felt his own erection straining for attention at the delicious sound; it took all the self-restraint he had -which admittedly was not that much- to resist taking the exotic man right there and then. That was not the reason why he had brought him there, he reminded himself. He had a lesson to teach the proud northern commander: that he was incapable of judging him or pretending to be better. _Who would ever resist the charms of this jewel or the pleasures he could provide?_

_However, I could still have a little taste for myself._

Now holding both of the young man’s wrists with only one hand, he quickly brought his free one between them, undoing his belt and pants. A few seconds more to part the folds of the delicate green fabric was all it took to expose both of their nakedness; him being rock hard already. The now trembling like a leaf in november slave was not, of course; but that was about to change, for it was all part of Eric’s plan: in order for it to work, he needed Mysterio to be as much excited as possible for what was to come. Slade, even if he was drunk, should not come to believe that he would be raping the other man.

Without losing more time -which he knew he did not have in abundance- the viking started to stroke them together, rocking his hips against the pinned man’s slender ones, groaning at the pleasure of the friction and the feeling of the soft, hairless body against his. Mysterio thrashed his head to the side and shut his eyes as tight as he could, trying to resist the urge to vomit. This was beyond humiliating; being forced to an act was one thing, but being forced to take pleasure in it was another thing completely. And although he fought with all his might to resist the sensation his tormentor was providing his body was betraying him, yielding to the touch. He tried to squirm and escape the grip, but, once again, his efforts proved to be feeble compared to the strength of the other. The only option he had was to wait stoically for this to end.

And it did, not after too long, when Erik reached his climax all over the pale torso underneath him, with a deep throaty moan. Still panting for breath, he got off him and tossed him a piece of wool to clean the mess he had created. All that Mysterio did was impassively glancing at it.

“Remember what I told you. _Be good tonight_.” he growled, not even caring to look at the slave who was still lying on the bed, not daring to move an inch. “And if you try to escape, you son of a whore, just wait and see what will happen when my men drag you back to me. Just wait and fucking see.” The sinister grin had returned. And although Mysterio did not know what exactly he meant, he still had a pretty good idea. He silently nodded in agreement.

“That’s my boy.” Erik mocked, and leaned over the young man again, grabbing the piece of wool he had tossed him and cleaning him, a little impatient with his slave’s apathy, folding the fabric around his hips back in place. He had not let him finish too, and with a hint of satisfaction observed how hard he still was. _Good. This is now Slade’s job_.

“Oh. And one last thing.” He searched in one of his pockets and threw a small leather purse on the bed next to Mysterio. “You’d better have those. Think of it as an act of generosity, because it is not going to be repeated.” He was now on his way to the exit of the tent. “Since you were born so perfect to be fucked, make your parents proud for me tonight.” his last sneer sounded before the fabric that covered the tent’s door fell in place again.

Mysterio; still dissociated from what had just happened; remained still, eyes observing the tent’s material as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Then his gaze fell back on the little purse next to him. By the faint earthly scent coming from it he knew what it contained before he opened it.

_Magic mushrooms_.

Now this pig’s rant of “generosity” finally made sense. Well, if a rape is not to be avoided, then better not be there through it.

As he brought the small fungi to his mouth, as the first wave of dizziness starting to overcome him and slowly everything melted into a chaos of unintelligible colors and sounds, his lids feeling heavier at each heartbeat, the young man swore to all the gods and spirits of revenge he served that Erik would rot in Hell for all eternity and that he would be the one to send him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mysterio is penned by my very talented bestie, found [here](https://your-dark-magic-man-mysterio.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> Slade is penned by myself, found [here](https://heedthemountain.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as well <3


	5. Slade and Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Slade have a talk...
> 
>  
> 
> _*cue suspenseful music*_

The touch of Kaarle’s hand on his bicep brought Slade back down to earth. Without realizing it, the general had stood the moment Erik dragged the male dancer violently from the stage. Slade had reacted out of instinct, to protect the young beauty. Glancing sideways at his second in command, he nodded grimly his thanks. Odin only  _ knew _ what would have happened had he leapt to the rescue. 

_ For the peace of our realm, I must keep my wits about me…. _   
  
Kaarle nodded back in response, his face equally grim, and they both turned back to their table as the night’s entertainment came to an end. Soft music played in the background as the noise level from the other clans rose, men shouting greetings and laughing, exchanging stories and harrowing tales of their year apart from each other.   
  
Slade’s captains were somber, fists clenched around their pints of mead, food left untouched after the disturbing performance. He stood before his most trusted men, Kaarle at his side. No words were needed. His piercing blue eyes spoke enough. They all nodded in understanding, lifting their fists over their hearts in the custom sign of loyalty in the Northern Clans, promising their fealty to their beloved leader.    
  
Slade returned the gesture, showing his men his own trust in their devoutness, and bowed his head in respect. Kaarle stood stoically by, his sharp ice blue eyes watching the men of the Southern clans mix with those of the East and West, spreading their venomous excitement about Erik’s stunning new pet, joking loudly and taking bets on who would be the first to take him this night. Kaarle’s stomach wrenched within him, bile rising to the back of this throat. _ Never _ had he been so disgusted with his own people....

Lifting his gaze to his men, Slade was pleased to find the 300 of them quiet and still, intelligent eyes fixed upon their leaders, watching their reactions to the performance. With merely a subtle flick of his head towards the other celebrating clans, Slade gave them his permission to mingle and enjoy the evening. However, they understood, that their General did not agree with the night’s entertainment, and they all agreed with him. The fact that Erik would bring a man to perform such a dance, and handle him as if he were a slave when finished… besides the fact that the women were already treated as such… It was one offense too many. Many of the men of the Northern clans burned with anger at the injustice of it all. And so, they slowly stood and mingled with their brothers, blatantly ignoring talk of the dancers and bringing the subject around to more exciting, less perverse, stories.

“My brother Slade!!” came the raspy cry from behind the Northman. 

Slade closed his eyes for a brief moment, calling forth his passive expression once more, and turned to meet the Southern leader, a heavy weight settling in his stomach at the sneering grin.

“Erik,” he responded quietly, grasping the offered forearm in greeting, both men sizing the other up. Although Erik was a big and powerful man, Slade still stood a good half a foot over the other. 

“My friend, may Odin smile upon you,” Erik recited the formal greeting of the Vikings.

“And may you always see victory,” Slade responded, finishing the greeting, gripping the muscular forearm before releasing it. His captains behind him stood, each giving a greeting to the Southern general before slipping off. Kaarle stood firm next to Slade, nodding stiffly to Erik.

The Southern clansman nodded in response and returned his attention to the tall brunette before him. Slade was barely able to hide a smile, Kaarle and Erik had only ever barely tolerated each other. “Tell me, General,” Erik began, his voice jovial and friendly, perhaps a bit too much of the latter. “How has the year treated you?”

Slade bit back a sigh and sat with the general, Kaarle standing guard nearby. The two leaders exchanged stories, tales of peace and growing fat with boredom. 

After several mugs of mead, Slade began to suspect the other had an ulterior motive. Erik kept thrusting more drink at him, insisting more and more each time to drink hearty to another year of prosperity. Arching a brow, Slade had no choice but to accept and drink along with the persistent general, resigning himself to a drunken night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a time, Erik urged Slade to walk with him, to take a turn with him about the encampment. Vision somewhat blurry from the large amount of mead swishing around in his belly, Slade waved Kaarle off, telling his man eat and drink, enjoy the night. Kaarle silently watched as the two of them exited, finally turning away silently to find some food.

Erik walked in circles around the large tents, laughing and retelling stories of olde, Slade huffing in quiet laughter at the memories. They kept circling closer and closer to Slade’s tent, the Northman growing more and more wary, the alcohol in his blood burning fast through him, Odin’s blessing dissolving the liquid and sobering him quickly, unbeknownst to the other. 

They finally stopped at the burgundy gold tent, Erik finishing off his favorite story, of how he saved his horse from drowning, with a flourish, downing the rest of his drink and guffawing uproariously. 

Clapping a meaty hand on the taller man’s shoulder, Erik grinned wide, Slade’s stomach souring before the other man even spoke. “My friend, I have a gift for you!!” Erik slurred slightly. 

Slade blinked at the Southerner, his face passive, wanting more than anything to escape his poisonous company and take his rest. But, instead, he took in a deep breath and forced himself to appear at least mildly interested. “Oh?” was his quiet reply.

“Yes!” came Erik’s joyous exclamation. “A gift from across the sea! One so beautiful, you will not be able to resist!!” The dark haired man pulled out a skin of wine and poured most of it into Slade’s now empty mug, urging him to drink. Slade only clenched his jaw and downed the whole thing quickly, wincing slightly as his full stomach gurgled in protest, if only to be rid of Erik. 

“Come and seeeee,” the drunken fool giggled and swept open the door of Slade’s tent.

Several torches were lit along the canvas walls, creating a warm welcoming light inside, illuminating everything in a soft yellow. 

But Slade could only see one thing: the pale motionless figure laid out on his bed. 

“ _ Erik _ ,” he whispered in shock, almost terrified the man had killed the youth lying so still.

But Erik took that as a moan of desire and cackled appreciatively. “Is he not the  _ vision _ of Freya herself?” he whispered darkly, pushing the shocked man inside. 

Slade felt as if his heart had plummeted into his stomach, his pulse racing as he took in the figure, mind whirling fast in his head.

“He desired to have a night alone with you, Slade my brother! He admired you from the moment he set eyes on you,” Erik lied smoothly, his dark eyes drinking in the stretched out limbs and bare torso, as if he had not just molested him a mere half an hour beforehand. “You see, he is excited,” the Southerner pointed out the outline of the thick hard length barely hidden underneath the green folds. 

“Yes, yes I can see that,” Slade sniped, vision going red. 

“Surely you will not deny him this,” came the thinly veiled threat Slade was waiting for. 

Gritting his teeth so hard they almost cracked, he feigned urgency and turned to shoo Erik from his tent. “Leave me alone with him, I will give him what he desires.” It took all of his strength to hide away the panic, hide away the furious anger bubbling just beneath the surface, to not skewer the bastard through with his broadsword.

“Alright, alright, as you wish, I will leave you to your mate,” Erik slurred and chuckled, tumbling out of the tent and out of sight, a dark sinister grin appearing the moment he met the cooler outside air, and wandered off to celebrate his evil genius.

Slade turned immediately and rushed over to the young dancer, hands dancing over soft looking skin in panic, afraid to touch without permission. The dancer had not moved an inch since they had entered the tent and Slade was afraid the beauty had been slain. 

Positioned diagonally across the large bed of furs, the handsome foreigner lay, lustrous locks of auburn billowing out around him like blood-tainted wings. Lips, that seemed to have been recently bitten, dry and cracked, beautiful face serene, dark red lashes brushing atop high cheekbones. The golden chains adorning his body laid askew, as if his body had been thrown forcefully onto the bed. At the side of each slim thigh were two imprints, as if someone had knelt above him. The sheer silk fabric tangled around long pale legs, one pale arm laid across the slender stomach, the other laid out on the bed, something clutched in his hand. 

Slade almost fainted in relief when an eyelid twitched and a soft moan escaped the dancer’s lips.  _ He still breathes, he still lives… _  Climbing carefully up onto the furs, Slade moved close, opening the youth’s slender hand, discovering the purse. Lifting it to his nose, his eyes darkened in rage and disbelief. 

_ Magical mushrooms… _

It all suddenly made sense. The many drinks… Erik had wanted him intoxicated, unable to decipher consent by this poor creature. The threat of angering, and possibly starting a war, by refusing such a gift. Slade knew if he had refused Erik, the Southerner would have gladly used his rebuttal as an excuse to wage war once again, throwing the now peaceful clans into turmoil and death... He could not do it.

And yet... why did Erik gift the dancer with a drug… was the bastard suddenly being kind??  _ By the gods, please don’t let him be poiso _ _ ned... _

His heart beating fast, his mind working even faster on what his options were, Slade pushed it all aside for now, determined to check on the young man’s state of health first. 

“Hello?” he whispered in his deep voice. “Can you hear me?” 

Being as gentle as possible, the general slipped his arm underneath the dancer’s neck, carefully lifting the slender shoulders and cradling his skull to rest against his warm chest. Slade gently rocked the red head, cradling him close, watching for any signs of life in that breathtaking face.  _ Please, please awaken, open your eyes, beautiful dove... _

Then he saw the bite mark resting at the bottom of the pale neck, tucked away behind soft red curls; almost a dark purple, red teeth marks surrounding it. 

Slade glanced at the erection still straining under the translucent fabric, then at the tiny purse he had tossed aside. 

Slowly, breathing deeply, Slade felt a rage, unlike any he had ever felt in his centuries of life, spread through his body, pure and hot and burning….

This…

THIS….. was not acceptable.

THIS.…. **would not be had**.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mysterio is penned by my very talented bestie, found [here](https://your-dark-magic-man-mysterio.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> Slade is penned by myself, found [here](https://heedthemountain.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as well <3


	6. Mysterio Drugged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mysterio struggles with the mushrooms.
> 
> *very trippy chapter ahead, contains descriptions of being drugged and paralyzed*

Darkness. 

Then a cataclysm of colors and sounds. Or maybe the sounds were the colors?

The single buzzing of a fly that happened to be in the tent sounded like a thousand arrows being shot at him. He could feel their sharp ends plunging into his head. There’s blood! _There’s blood! Running through my skull, staining the sheets, flowing down my shoulders. It smells of cypress… The room is spinning… I… I…._

More darkness. 

And from that darkness thousand stars emerged; no, no, these were not stars, they were fireflies. A green field full of poppies and dandelions, sun rays caressing his pale skin… no, not sun rays…. they were peplums… and the smile of a gorgeous, gorgeous woman… Freya smiling upon him… “My son…” she mouthed and disappeared, leaving him all alone, lying there comfortably numb. Ah he remembered that field well… If he paid more attention, he would even hear the distant ripples on the surface of the lake near his house. _My father had advised me to only swim at night…_ One pulse. Two pulses. Three hundred pulses. I am soaked to the bone…

“You are too beautiful, getting more and more delicate everyday that passes… no one should notice… no one should know…” The words were spoken by the wind so softly, but even still, somehow they hurt like stab wounds… _why_? And the sun abruptly disappeared from the sky, the field sinking into nothing. Instinctively, the youth’s fingers tangled in the sprouts underneath him, and the sprouts held on him for dear life. Holding… tangling… the poppies and dandelions were swallowing him whole, climbing and wrapping around his arms, legs, chest, his neck, their grasp tightening, _I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe… the world is fading, my vision is fading, I can’t breathe…_

And now the fireflies had vanished too… but their light still remained, it had transformed into thousands bodiless glimmering eyes looking at him derisively, hostile… and the shadows in his peripheral vision were taking shape, becoming tendrils; hands of darkness multiplying in a fractalesque manner, invading and attacking him, pressing him even further downwards into the soil, burying him alive. Before his lips were sealed by them forever, with the last labored breath he could draw as his chest was being crushed, the boy whimpered.

_ Hilfe… _

Two syllables. That was all it took, and the smile appeared again, beaming at him; all the shadows being extinguished and the sprouts released him. _I am falling… falling…_ But then, a warmth so familiar engulfed him, something, someone was lifting his limp body, supporting it. Even in his state he could tell; there could not be a mistake… that smile which now was fading into a worried frown… that warmth… that was not Freya… that was… _that is…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The young dancer in Slade’s arms was motionless, barely breathing; pale as death and soaked in cold sweat. Upon a first observation, he indeed looked more dead than alive, a rag doll made of flesh in his embrace. In pharmacology, the very first thing he was taught by his parents was that “there is no drug that cannot turn into a poison if the dosage is wrong”. The exact rule he had completely ignored when consuming the mushrooms. 

But after a while, as if the warmth from Slade’s skin was transferring vitality to him, the crimson eyelashes fluttered even though the lids remained closed. The voluptuous lips twitched slightly to form the faintest of smiles, and in his feverish delirium, the vision of a man let out a broken whisper, the truest prayer of all:

_ “Mother… mother…” _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_ Where am I…? I cannot see… I cannot hear… mother, I am afraid…  _

_ Where is father..? Is he dead? Did he refuse to set his eyes upon me..? Is he ashamed of me..? I am sorry mother I am sorry, I should have listened when he said I should not bathe at midday… I am sorry I was born like this… mother… why won’t you answer..?  _

Something was amiss. In his confusion and dread, Mysterio realized that this was not possible…that scent…could not be hers… His mother smelled of freshly cut rosemary, lavender and daphne oil… this scent was earthly… musky… then who… 

The eyelids of the young man half-opened.

For a fleeting second everything went white; blinding light overflowing his vision. Surrounded by the blazing, purificating light, a set of piercing blue eyes were looking at him. _Is that… Is that the angel of death..? Who knew that the Angel of Death had so beautiful, so magnificent, so gentle eyes… Is the light the mane of his pale horse, coming to take me..? Am I poisoned and taking my last breaths? How many were the shrooms I took..?_

They must have been too many, if that numbness that pinned his limbs down was any form of an indication. Each breath was becoming more and more painful and labored each second that passed. No, he had to fight. Fight that numbness; how else could his spirit break free from its flesh prison and flee with him..? 

He put together all the attention he could muster and tried harder to lift that terrible weight from his chest.

His spirit remained trapped, but he dully noted that a finger of his twitched. _Am I not dead, therefore? Did that breathtaking pair of eyes not belong to death’s herald? No, gods, why are you so cruel, why do you refuse to take me and deliver me from this constant torture and humiliation my life has become?_

Straining, the young man raised his hand a couple of inches, just enough for his fingers to trace blindly his surroundings, eyes narrowing and trying to focus. 

The incoming image was trembling and blurry around the edges; Mysterio could not tell dream from reality anymore, or else how was it that this face looked…familiar? Was that not the viking leader from the entertainment grounds a few hours ago- _or was it days..? How long had it passed..? Ah, he looks even more gentle from close up… so much more handsome… but… why is he looking at me like this..?_

They say being gifted is a terrible privilege…. in this case it was no different. For as Mysterio’s senses were struggling to catch up with reality still under the influence of the narcotic and mingling facts with delusions of a sickened mind, his ability to read thoughts and feel auras was also working selectively… the only emotion currently registering from the viking being… _anger._

_ Is he angry at me..? He must be…  _

In his daze, he noticed only then that he was still painfully hard.

_ Did he read my thoughts..? The how much I want him..?  Is he going to punish me..? _

_ No… it cannot be… I remember him… he did not approve of the show… he was kind not to approve… Perhaps that is all the more why he is angry… but perhaps…perhaps he is kind enough to… to… _

The adorned with magma hair head lolled to the side and onto the man’s chest, cypress green eyes closing again. And the beautiful lips whispered only two words to the astonished viking leader.

_ “Kill me…” _   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mysterio is penned by my very talented bestie, found [here](https://your-dark-magic-man-mysterio.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> Slade is penned by myself, found [here](https://heedthemountain.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as well <3


	7. Slade Finds Mysterio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade has found Mysterio drugged and paralyzed

Red, burning rage. The viking silently fumed, staring at the golden braids twisted with burgundy along the hem of the tent, seeing nothing and everything all at once. His spirit warred with his self conscious, his yearning for peace tipping now in favor of justice.

_What must I do, Odin, tell me, what must I do? This is cruelty beyond measure._

Glancing down at the slender underfed form stretched out along his bed, the raw skin around thin ankles catching his gaze, Slade ground his teeth together, almost to the point of breaking them. His thoughts whirled around inside his head, concern for the youth and desire to slaughter Erik where he stood….

Before he could open his lips to call for his guard, a tiny whisper caught his ear, a whimper so soft it barely registered. 

Slade dropped his gaze to the dancer, heart wrenching in his chest as the beauty whimpers again, breath catching, ribs pulling at the pale skin as he struggles to draw breath. _Oh gods, what must he see behind closed lids, how he must suffer even in dreams in this haggard life of torture and sorrow…_

Cupping a sallow cheek, Slade whispered quietly, hoping to draw the beauty from such horror. “Hello, can you hear me?” Nothing. Torchlight flickered across the beautiful face for long moments, and the general fought to remain quiet.

And yet, finally, the dark crimson lashes part, eyes the shade of spring grass shimmer up at him, still heavy lidded. Slade remained still, thumb caressing a high cheekbone softly as he watched the foreigner struggle to focus. 

Panic set upon the enchanting features, barely there but prominent to those who know how to read such expressions. Slade hummed in reassurance, the hand wrapped underneath the youth gently stroking soft skin to calm. 

But the dancer’s eyes widened slightly, dry cracked lips parting slowly. Slade inhaled sharply, the eyes that peered up at him in desperation were bloodshot, pupils nearly non-existent, tiny points in the midst of cypress green. Sure signs of poisoning… Slade lifted his head at once and inhaled a gush of air, about to shout for the doctor and guard when...

_“Kill me…”_

Slade slowly looked back down at the redhead, watching as a hand twitched in desperation, almost as if fighting against invisible bonds. 

Blue eyes met grave verdant ones and the viking leader swallowed thickly, jaw clenching in determination.

“No. This will **not** be your last day on this earth. By Odin himself, I swear to you: Your pain. **Stops. Now.** ”

Lifting his head once again, Slade yelled loud for his guard, tucking the youth closer to his chest, hand caressing the back of his skull in comfort. The instant the guard entered, he called for Kaarle and the witch doctor, urging the man to be silent and secretive, this was a matter of life and death.

The trusted guard nodded and slipped out quietly into the night.

Taking a deep breath, Slade gently laid out the young man along his bed, arranging his red waves along the pillow, covering his nakedness with a soft wool blanket, laying arms above the blanket at his sides. Avoiding the piercing green gaze, he quickly moved about, wetting a small cloth is cool water and kneels next to the dancer, bathing his sweaty forehead as the general waited for his men. 

“You are safe now. Erik and his people will never touch you again,” he growled softly, making eye contact to show the truth of his words before tossing the cloth back into the basin. 

The two stared at each other for long moments, Slade growing more and more worried as the foreigner’s breathing became more and more shallow.

Kaarle burst into the tent, face red with anger, sword drawn before him, eyes searching sharply about for any sign of an enemy.

The youth jumped slightly at his entrance and Slade laid a calming hand atop his breast, turning quickly to his second-in-command.

“Peace, Kaarle, peace,” he commanded, the captain calming immediately and stalked to his leader’s side. But he stopped short at the sight before him, blue eyes flitting up in confusion to meet Slade’s.

“A gift,” Slade spoke through his teeth, “From Erik…”

Kaarle’s face remained passive, however Slade could see the bulging vein along his neck, hear the leather creaking at the sword’s hilt. He knew he was not alone in his rage.

Before either of them could speak, the witch doctor rushed in, followed by the guard. 

“My Lord, what--” the doctor stopped short, started at the sight of the foreigner in the general’s bed.

“He has been poisoned, he is not able to move,” Slade spoke loudly and forcefully, pulling the doctor out of his state. He nodded at the small skin purse, making eye contact with Kaarle, who picked it up and showed it the doctor.

Without a second thought, the doctor took it, breathed in a whiff and cringed. “These mushrooms have been tainted by water hemlock, my Lord,” the old doctor rasped in disgust, for poisoning was considered one of the most cowardly act of the vikings. Warriors met face to face, they did not sneak about in the dark…

“Do what you must, Doctor, he must live,” Slade insisted quietly and the doctor bowed slight, pulling out his pouch of ingredients and quickly set to work. “Ager,” he called to the guard, who stood straight in response. “Fetch whatever the doctor needs.” The guard nodded and punched the butt of his spear into the earth, kneeling quickly as the doctor began to voice his needs.

Slade turned back to the dancer, watching eyes the green eyes stared straight up at him. Smiling softly, the general tucked a strand of lava behind the beautiful dancer’s ear, Kaarle moving to the other side of the bed and sitting next to the dancer. 

Ignoring the startle and quick movement of emerald orbs in his direction, Kaarle leaned over the slender body, waiting for Slade to speak.

Taking a deep breath, keeping an ear open as the doctor and the guard worked fast, he tilted towards his most trusted companion and hissed every detail of what had happened, from the moment Erik took him from the main tent to now. 

Kaarle slowly looked down at the dancer beneath them, drinking in every word, his warrior’s heart melting at the battered youth, his eyes flitting to the deep bite mark along the swan-like neck. Remaining silent, he returned his gaze to Slade.

The Northman was also gazing down at the dancer, and remained as such as he spoke. “This must stop now, Kaarle. We can no longer look away. They are slaves, they are prisoners…” Slade looked back at his captain. “Erik… must die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mysterio is penned by my very talented bestie, found [here](https://your-dark-magic-man-mysterio.tumblr.com/) on tumblr
> 
> Slade is penned by myself, found [here](https://heedthemountain.tumblr.com/) on tumblr as well <3


End file.
